


The Rough Hands of The Soft-Hearted

by providentialeyes



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Dysphoria, Gender Dysphoria, Heavy Angst, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Minor Injuries, Misgendering, Other, Outing, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Protectiveness, Tenderness, Touch-Starved, because he adores john and that DOES NOT change, fuck man, love and acceptance and arthur not giving any fucks, non consensual outing, non-binary john marston, read the fucking note, rival gangs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22708396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/providentialeyes/pseuds/providentialeyes
Summary: It’s too fucking domestic, watching Arthur.He feels like his stomach is going to eat itself from the inside out, leave a pit in his gut.Leave a hole within him, widen the void where his comfort and security used to exist.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 5
Kudos: 84





	The Rough Hands of The Soft-Hearted

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ ME and mind the fucking tags i swear to god
> 
> listen i do not write transphobic/dysphoria wank often, and though this isn't particularly purposeful misgendering, more just ignorance towards non-cis identities concurrent with the time period, it's still really fucked up
> 
> if you need more details read this next part, if not skip to the fic---
> 
> john is masc-presenting non binary, he gets captured and repeatedly referred to as a girl, leading to one of the rival gang who's captured him yanking up John's shirt and exposing him, nearly groping him. He's restrained to a table and cannot get himself covered in time before arthur finds him, thus forcibly outing him. 
> 
> he's in a pretty shitty state of mind for the next while in the fic and isn't really sure of how Arthur is going to react, whether he'll be hurt or what, and attempts to barter sex for arthur's silence. arthur rejects that and pointedly tries to be as respectful and gentle as possible with John for the rest of the fic

Being captured by a couple stragglers of an old gang whose territory they'd unknowingly trespassed was a surprise. 

John frowns heavily, watching the members bicker back and forth in a language he doesn't recognize. 

"Y'all gon' cut me loose anytime soon?" John asks shortly, shifting on his knees and fighting the rope around his wrists. 

"Be quiet, girl," One of the men hisses at John who stiffens violently. 

"I ain't no _girl,"_ John spits.

The man rolls his eyes and resumes bickering with one of the other men, but the third… 

The third man is looking at him, and John feels his skin crawl. 

Number three says something lowly in the unfamiliar language at John, leering. 

"What?" John asks sharply, trying to not let his voice crack. 

"We wanted man," Number three says, stepping closer, arms crossed as he crouches in front of John, "Got _girl."_

"I _ain't_ a girl," John growls, stomach rolling as fear bounces around within him.

Number three quirks an eyebrow, grabbing John by the hair. 

"Hey!" John squirms and tries to break the hold but it only tightens, forcing his head to one side as number three yanks up John's shirts under the suspenders.

John freezes, eyes wide where he's staring at the floorboards, the cold air making goosebumps break out across his skin. 

"Not a girl?" Three asks mockingly, fingertips only inches from one side of John's chest when a gunshot sounds and the glass of one window shatters.

Three reels back and jumps into action. 

Yelling and shooting and John struggles against the table he's tied to when he hears Arthur's voice. 

John whines desperately and tries to leverage away from the table, ending up hunched over, still stuck kneeling, shirts still up to his armpits. 

The commotion doesn't last that long, but it's all taking place out of John's field of view. 

There's a beat of silence. 

"John?" Arthur calls from some room to John's left. 

The younger uselessly twists and squirms trying to get his chest covered. 

"John, you in here?" 

John sniffs sharply when he realizes it's a lost battle and slumps back against the table leg. 

"Same room you shot into," John says hoarsely. 

He hears Arthur's footsteps stop and then change direction, coming closer. 

John takes a deep breath and presses his lips together, trying to not even _think_ about crying. 

Arthur passes the threshold, starts to say something and immediately stops, both physically and verbally. 

John lowers his gaze to the wood floor between his knees and waits. 

"... Oh," Arthur whispers, "You're…"

Takes a few steps closer. 

John tenses up harshly, fear bursting back into his veins even stronger than before at the thought of Arthur hurting him. 

Betraying him. 

Hating him. 

John can feel his heart racing, can hear himself breathing quickly but can't seem to control any of his body. 

"Please," John whispers shakily, "Don't…"

"What?" Arthur asks quietly, even closer and John cries out in fear, twisting away, trying to curl over himself. 

"Shh," Arthur murmurs, "John, s'alright, lemme just-" 

John hiccups through his tears as Arthur kneels in front of him, grabs his arms and…

Cuts him free. 

John wants to pull his shirt back into place, wants to get as far away as he can and calm the fuck down. 

Instead, he stays, shaking, tears dripping onto the wood planks beneath him. 

"... John?" Arthur asks after a moment, awkwardly jostling the younger's arm, "C'mon, kid." 

When he gets no response he runs his tongue over his lower lip nervously then slowly moves his hands to the sides of John's ribs, carefully grabbing the shirt and pulling it down. 

John flinches away from him but Arthur persists, getting the shirt righted and then pulling John to his feet as he rises himself. 

"Hey…" Arthur whispers, squeezing John's upper arm, "You hurt?"

John slowly nods.

"Can you ride?" 

John's honestly not sure, with the way his back and hips are aching, if he could take more than a canter without crying. 

He nods anyway. 

"Alright, c'mon."

\--

John near passes out a few times during the several hour ride, clean north of the place he'd been held. 

Not back towards camp. 

There's a growing fear in John's belly about what Arthur's gonna do to him, about him. 

Whether he'll be turned out as a liar or have to bargain to make Arthur keep his secret. 

He doesn't want to think Arthur'd hurt him. 

But now, he's just so fucking scared. 

\-- 

John clings to the saddlebags as he lowers himself to the ground, biting down on a pained whimper. 

When those men had first captured him, he'd been patrolling a little ways from camp. 

They'd gagged him and shoved him to the ground, his hips twisted awkwardly underneath him, rocks and twigs in the dirt cutting into his back and shoulders. 

John thinks about running, knows he wouldn't get far. 

So he stands, as still as possible, waiting for Arthur. 

\--

Arthur instructs him to lay down in the tent he's pitched, on the older man's bedroll and John's heart skips. 

The way Arthur says it is more of an order than a suggestion, no-nonsense. 

John carefully pries off his boots then nervously lays back, holding himself stiffly. 

\--

Arthur takes longer than expected and John starts wondering if he really should make a run for it.

Then the canvas parts and he tenses and Arthur sits down heavily to pull off his boots, radiating annoyance. 

John holds as still as he can. 

"How you feelin'?" Arthur mutters after a moment. 

"... I'm fine," John whispers, not wanting to annoy the older man further. 

"You sure?" Arthur turns to lay down next to him, frowning, "You gon' be alright?"

John's next breath in is a bit weak but he nods, ducking his head. 

"... C'mon," Arthur mutters tiredly, lifting his blanket for himself and John, "Get under here 'fore you catch death."

John slowly moves closer, settling on his side facing Arthur. 

Arthur’s already out of his gun belt and suspenders. 

John watches closely as the older man stretches his arms up over his head, the movement carrying down, through the older man’s tensed legs, all the way to Arthur’s socked toes as they curl.

It’s too fucking domestic, watching Arthur. 

He feels like his stomach is going to eat itself from the inside out, leave a pit in his gut. 

Leave a hole within him, widen the void where his comfort and security used to exist.

John reaches out, hesitates, then wiggles closer, settling his hand on Arthur’s stretched side. 

The older man flinches slightly, tilting his head and opening his eyes to look at John, questioning. 

“If… If I do this will you not tell Dutch?” John whispers, “Or at least hold-off?”

“... Do what?”

John fidgets and drops his gaze. 

“I don’t know… I ain’t done-“ John swallows his anxiety and shrugs, rubbing his fingertips along one of Arthur’s ribs unconsciously, “What do you want?”

Arthur's lips purse, his muscles shifting under John's touch. 

"How's your hip?"

"What?" John asks quietly, brows furrowing.

"Still hurtin'?" 

"... Yeah."

"What 'bout those cuts on your side?" Arthur asks, frowning at the ceiling of the tent, "They go all the way 'round?"

"... Yes."

"Wanna put somethin' on 'em?" 

John lifts his head to stare at the older man in confusion. 

Arthur meets his gaze tiredly and John has the realization that Arthur must've rode all day to come rescue him. 

Shame burns bright in his chest and he drops his gaze again. 

"Got somethin' in my bag," Arthur murmurs, "I'll help if you want."

"... Alright," John whispers, shifts back as Arthur sits up. 

The older man quickly pinches a tin from his satchel then reclines on one forearm, studying John. 

"You… You want me to look 'way or somethin'?" 

"Do you want to?" John asks hesitantly. 

Arthur's nose wrinkles and the older man's gaze flicks down to John's chest and back up. 

“... Do you _need_ me to?” Arthur rephrases.

John blinks as he processes that. 

It’s a gentle exchange of power, but an exchange none-the-less. 

He shakes his head, very slowly.

"You sure?" Arthur asks, low and serious. 

"S'no point now," John mutters. 

"... John," Arthur reaches out and taps the tin against the center of the younger's forehead, "I'm sorry." 

John’s nose wrinkles as he leans away from the cold metal, looking up at Arthur. 

“C’mon,” Arthur murmurs, gesturing lightly at John’s shirts. 

“Can you help?” John whispers, “Not sure I can hold my arms up r’now.”

Arthur sits up fully and pulls John gently to sit in front of him, facing away. 

John tries to hold back the noises of pain as the scrapes on his back stretch and his shoulders burn, even with Arthur supporting his arms. 

Arthur whistles lowly, settling his hand on an unscathed spot of John’s shoulder. 

John tenses lightly, then slowly leans back into the touch. 

He feels so tired, suddenly, conflicted over the events of the day, in pain, angry, but mostly? 

Just tired. 

A smear of cold gel across his shoulder blades has him hissing, goosebumps prickling his upper body. 

Arthur’s excruciatingly gentle, hands warm and strong and so _fucking_ careful, thumb brushing the crest of John’s shoulder blade, curving under each knob of his spine. 

John presses his lips together hard, a feeling that he’d shoved down for years bubbling in him. 

He twists his fingers in his lap, frowning down at himself, trying to focus on the sparks of pain, and not how good it feels to be touched. 

He draws his lower lip between his teeth and slowly leans more of his weight back into Arthur’s hands. 

The older man’s fingers pause, near the bottom of one side of his rib cage. 

“Y’alright?” Arthur asks quietly. 

“... I wanna ask for somethin’ a bit strange,” John takes a deep breath in, slowly, lets it out as a sigh, covering his eyes with one scraped palm.

“Hm?”

“Will you… D’you be willin’...?” John lets out a frustrated sound and leans back more into Arthur’s space, covering his eyes tighter. 

Hoping the older man can miraculously _know_ and spare John having to ask. 

Arthur's hands cup under his elbows and gently turn him around. 

"What?" Arthur whispers. 

"Hold me," John mutters roughly, reluctantly, feeling his face warming in embarrassment.

"... You tired?"

John nods and Arthur reaches back to snuff the lantern, then turns to lay down. 

John lays down as well, facing the older man, a bit stiff. 

"You wanna put your shirt back on?" Arthur asks quietly. 

"Do you care?"

"Nah." 

John shakes his head and hesitantly scoots closer, glancing up at Arthur's face in the dim light. 

"C'mere," Arthur murmurs carefully wrapping his arm low around John to avoid the cuts. 

John restrains himself for a good minute then wriggles closer and hugs Arthur tightly, smothering himself to the older man's chest. 

Arthur makes a small noise of surprise as John's nose presses into the crook of his neck, then he settles into the embrace, hugging John just as tightly while being mindful of the younger's injuries. 

His heart aches, confusion, pity, guilt, all warring within him. 

He squeezes the younger firmly, worried John’ll be stolen away again if he happens to let go, and closes his eyes.


End file.
